Changes
by harllett
Summary: Will reflects on how life has changed... Post season 2, Will/Djaq, some fluff of course! One Shot for KeepingAmused


**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the BBC Robin Hood characters, to my utmost despair.

**Rating: **K+

**Summary: **Will reflects on how life has changed... Post season 2, Will/Djaq, some fluff of course!

**Author's Note:** This emerged from a random thought I had earlier about Will looking at his feet. I have this weird image of him being amazed by what his feet look like because he wears boots all the time! My train of thought then moved on to how much cooler I feel if I have bare feet - somehow it cools you down ten times more than wearing short sleeves or something. So I started typing, and this emerged...

It is for KeepingAmused, a) because her Chemistry test sucked and I reminded her of it :( and want to cheer her up, and b) because she is awesome.

Enjoy!

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**Changes**

Will stared down at his feet. He gave his toes an experimental wriggle, feeling a joyful, boyish sensation run through him.

Had anyone walked into the bedroom and seen him watching his feet so avidly he would have been embarrassed, but he was alone in Bassam's house, his host having escorted Djaq on another of the endless rounds of meetings and afternoon teas with long lost acquaintances. So Will was free to wander the house as he wished; but for now, at least, he was perfectly happy enjoying the new freedom he was finding in being able to walk barefooted around his bedroom.

It reminded him of a far simpler time, a time when the Sheriff was fair and the law just, when the fields around Locksley were lush and green and flooded with the sun's golden rays. In the summertime he and the other village children would run outside in their bare feet and short trousers as soon as the sun rose, soaking their clothes with the early morning dew. He had forgotten such simple pleasures; the effortless joy that came from grass tickling his feet as he ran and jumped and played with his friends.

He had never noticed that freedom slipping away, as he grew taller and gathered more responsibilities. Gradually, as he began to help in his father's work shop and was trusted with more dangerous tasks, his feet were encased in shoes and then sturdy boots. By the time he became an outlaw, he had all but forgotten the delight of barefooted freedom; and in the forest he only ever removed his boots and stockings to bathe, and that was a rare occurrence.

But now, in Acre, bare feet were the norm. The air was hot and the sun seared the land until the ground itself baked in the heat. Will had been amazed by how much cooler he felt just by removing his boots and wearing the sandals he had been given. Now, though, he was resisting even sandals, taking the chance to wander freely through the house.

He stood up and left his bedchamber, padding softly out into the hallway. He relished the coolness of the tiles against the soles of his feet, glad of the shade the house offered. He struggled with the heat outside; his pale skin was a standing joke amongst local citizens, but for him it was not funny. For the first few days in Acre his skin had burned fiercely, turning a vibrant and painful red after only a short while in the sun.

The only positive thing to come out of the experience had been Djaq having an excuse to run her hands over him, rubbing in a cool, soothing ointment to alleviate some of the burn.

The heat did not only burn, it made him sweat. Warm rivulets would trickle down the back of his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. He had never suffered such problems, even after the exertions of a heated battle with his ax. And so Will favoured the shade, and was perfectly happy to be in the house, at least for the time being; he knew that eventually he would feel cooped up, trapped by his own body as it was not accustomed to the elements of the East. He only wished that Djaq could be there, relishing the shade with him.

Will slipped into the dining room, admiring the carpentry of the majestic table as he had done many times already. He ran his fingertips lightly over the intricate carvings, feeling every smoothness, finding every nick in the wood as if his own chisel had caused it.

Turning away from the table he caught the sleeve of his tunic upon one of its corners and frowned, carefully disentangling the snagged fabric. That was another difference between home and Acre – his clothes. The heat and culture had necessitated a change from his outlaw's uniform, from ill fitting and rough cloth to sleek, flowing linens. Sometimes he enjoyed the feeling of smooth cotton against his skin; but often he longed for the coarse hessian that had scratched against him and yet helped him survive harsh winters and many fights.

There was a sound from another room and Will tensed, his hand automatically flying to his hip. His fingers twitched in annoyance as they met his jutting hipbone rather than the familiar smooth wood and metal of the hatchet that had always rested there. Changing his clothes was one thing - he knew that the light cottons and linens were beneficial in the heat – but being unable to carry his beloved weapons was a different matter entirely. They were a _part_ of him.

Sometimes he realised how sad it was that he was so dependent upon an axe as a weapon rather than a tool. In some parallel universe Will Scarlett was still living in Locksley, making a decent living to support his family, going to bed at night and leaving his tools downstairs in his workshop. But having them nearby in the forest had been a necessity, and he had become accustomed to sleeping with his axes mere inches from his fingertips.

Here in the cool shade of Bassam's house danger in Sherwood Forest was a long way away, but every facet of an outlaw's existence was ingrained upon Will's every thought, emotion and action. And so the sound of an unknown person approaching had him standing stiffly against the wall, positioning himself so he could watch the door, ready to fight if it was necessary.

It wasn't; the culprit of the disturbance was a young servant girl, who flitted into the room before freezing on the spot as she noticed Will. She cast her eyes down to the ground immediately, and murmured an apology in Arabic before backing out of the room.

Will was still surprised and more than a little discomfited when another human being acted in such a subversive way to him, Will Scarlett, a humble carpenter and peasant. He was an Englishman in a foreign land, and yet being a guest in Bassam's house gave him position. He was not used to being shown such respect, and sometimes longed for the equality of life in the forest. Robin had once told Djaq off for bowing, and it was true; Sherwood was a sacred place of parity, where rank and status meant nothing. Will was a peasant, Allan a poacher, and Much a servant; yet the forest offered them the chance to fight alongside a nobleman.

Shaking his head to try and dispel the memories of his friends Will left the room, hurrying upon his bare feet to the one room where he had always found peace in this house. He cherished the fact that he shared Djaq's fondness for the pigeons; he didn't pretend, he truly loved the small birds. In Locksley pigeons had always been a nuisance, cooing in the eaves and waking him from slumber. The Locksley pigeons had always seemed to have a natural talent for aiming their droppings at whatever piece of carpentry he had been working on outside. But here, the soft cooing and gentle rustling of feathers brought him a sense of tranquility he had barely felt since leaving English shores.

He reached for the cage of his favourite pigeon, carefully unhooking the latch on the door and lifting out the small bundle of feathers. "Hello," he whispered, lifting the animal up to his eye level. The beady black eye blinked back at him intelligently and Will was struck by another memory, of him dressed as a guard with a grinning Fool standing beside him, lifting a similar bird that offered hope for England's salvation.

A happy smile lit his face as he heard voices outside. Djaq was speaking rapidly in Arabic, and Will understood less than a tenth of what she was saying, but it didn't matter; he enjoyed hearing the passionate lilt in her voice when she spoke in her native tongue.

She entered the bird room, Bassam at her side. After greeting Will, the elderly man disappeared into the depths of the house, calling to someone to arrange lunch. Djaq inclined her head towards the door and then left the room as well.

Trying to stop himself from beaming, Will gently replaced the pigeon in its hold and followed Djaq. He entered her bedchamber silently and found her standing by the window. She had removed the scarf from her head and he could see her hair, even longer now, curling softly around her face. She was his Djaq again, passionate and free, not the sedate and formal Saffiyah who had left the house earlier that morning.

Flooded by an overwhelming rush of love Will stepped forwards, reaching out for her. In an instant she was in his arms, pressed against him, lips eagerly searching for his.

After a passionate kiss Will rested his forehead upon hers, their slightly laboured breathing the only sound in the room. He closed his eyes, his other senses heightening as he felt her skin against his, smelled the sweet scent of saffron and sunshine, and heard her deep inhalations.

He knew he had had too much time to think that morning, too much time to remember the past and compare it to the present. His mind suffered a constant onslaught of memories when he was alone, forcing him to contemplate everything that had changed. It was only when he was with Djaq, when his every nerve was tingling just from her presence, that he forgot everything else. All he could concentrate on was her; she was enough for him. It terrified him that he was so dependent on one person, having spent his whole life being depended upon by others, but he knew that all he needed to be happy was the woman who was nuzzling his neck with her nose and planting tiny kisses along his jaw line.

A lot had changed, there was no denying that. But with Djaq in his arms nothing mattered – not his clothes, not his pale skin, not even the fact that his beloved axes lay buried in a trunk that he had not made. One thing had not changed, and that was the fact that he loved Djaq with every fibre of his being, and she returned his devotion. Who knew what the future would bring – perhaps a return to Sherwood, to his friends and his brother. But for now, he had Djaq, and that was enough.

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**A/N:** This isn't usually my take on the whole Will/Djaq/Holy Land saga. My real feelings on the matter lie in a different fic - I don't believe that love would be enough for it to work out, and it would be crazy difficult for Will to stay there. But like I say, that is (literally) a different story, and I am at heart a hopeless romantic, so there you go.


End file.
